


Pack Tactics

by AsheRhyder



Series: Lone Wolf [2]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Background Relationships, Canon-Typical Violence, Dad Reaper | Gabriel Reyes, Expendable Extras, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Nicknames, Team Bonding, Team as Family, Teamwork
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-15
Updated: 2016-11-15
Packaged: 2018-08-31 03:20:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,481
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8561629
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AsheRhyder/pseuds/AsheRhyder
Summary: The lone wolf survived the long drought, and now it's time for him to remind the world what wolves do best. OR: Jesse McCree is good at his job and bad at naming things. These traits are not as unrelated as some might think.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This story follows "Watching You Run Into The High Noon Sun" and may make significantly less sense if you haven't read that one first.

**THEN:**

 

_It began a lifetime ago when a half-wild wolf of a young man saw the war-scarred titan who dared to try and tame him face down a unit of mercenaries with little more than his shadow, his wrath, and his Firecracker. Gabriel carried his anger like a cloak, and Jesse felt it brush past him like the impending doom of the rising tide as he stood at his mentor’s back. They were horrifically outnumbered and outclassed - three of their six team members were already dead, and if anything their loss only improved Blackwatch’s teamwork. Jesse wouldn’t miss them; they were the sort who made faces whenever Gabriel’s back was turned, and not in the fun way. Gabriel told him in no uncertain terms he wasn’t allowed to pick fights with the other Blackwatch agents anymore._

 

_The idea came to him like a bolt of lightning as his eyes darted over the field, assessing the enemy forces and potential advances with tactical coolness he’d never profess to anyone except Gabriel. He stepped closer to the eye of the storm, pressing up against his mentor’s back._

_“Get ready to dance, Boss,” he drawled, and he could feel the short, sharp laugh right through his breastplate._

_“Don’t you dare make a joke about ‘do-si-do’ or any other line dancing crap, Firecracker.” Gabriel growled._

_“Aww, Boss.” Jesse grabbed a flashbang and hurled it into the advancing enemy unit as they pushed through a choke point. Gabriel immediately spun into a flurry of shots, bullets flying in every direction as he plunged into their midst, and where Gabriel went, so did Jesse. The bodies that hit the floor didn’t even so much as twitch._

_Jesse let out a weak whistle as they came to a stop._

_“Boss,” he warbled, taking an unsteady step away. “I think the next time we_ ‘Do-Si-Do _’, I’m gonna have to sit out the ‘_ Swing Your Partner' _stage.”_

_“I didn’t expect you to stick with me,” Gabriel snorted. “And what did I tell you about dancing jokes?”_

_Jesse just leaned against a nearby wall until the room stopped spinning. The last surviving member of their team muttered something uncomplimentary, and Gabriel shot him a look that said he’d be just as happy to shut him up with a shotgun shell as with a glare._

_“Sorry, Boss, I don’t have a better name for it.” Jesse said as he straightened up._

_“It doesn’t need a better name. This isn’t a video game where you can line up flashy combo attacks with a push of a button.” Gabriel’s tone was reproachful; his smile was everything but. Jesse gave him a still-slightly queasy grin, and they moved on to the next part of the mission._

_They danced again before the night was through, although that time, Jesse simply lobbed the flashbang and ducked for cover rather than trying to match Gabriel’s flurry. In all the years that followed and all the times they fought, Jesse never did come up with a better name._

  


**NOW:**

 

    It takes time, of course, to rebuild the old bridges and navigate the treacherous white water of lost time. Some people have not changed, while others have all but lost their old selves to the rapids. Jesse expels the metaphorical water from his lungs and rediscovers delight in breathing; he drowned for so long thinking he was swimming that the first gasp of air makes his head spin.

    Most of the team is confused at first. They’ve had months to acclimate to the quiet, reserved anachronism in the back of the room, and while he hasn’t become a debutante overnight, he’s less cautious about hiding the myriad observations he’s made about his teammates thus far.

    He knows how everyone takes their morning drink of choice: who drinks juice, who takes which kind of tea, how many (if any) creams and sugars to put in each mug of coffee. On the occasions where he rises early, he’ll have each teammate’s drink ready for them within moments of their arrival in the kitchen. He has never once asked anyone about their preference, and they realize quickly that no one has ever asked him.

Hanzo, of course, finds the ritual charming. Genji took a cup of coffee to enjoy the scent back in his Blackwatch days but has since switched to tea out of nostalgia, and it throws him that McCree noticed, but never once mentioned it.

    “He used to talk to me,” Genji admits to his brother. “He used to talk to everyone. We could not get him to stop. He was very talkative back then.”

    “He is still talkative.”  Hanzo sips his tea, perfectly steeped, with a secret dollop of honey that isn’t strictly traditional. “You talk to him with some regularity.”

    “It is not the same.” Genji sighs. “He used to ask questions. Now he looks and sees the answers, but he never speaks of them.”

    Hanzo puts down his teacup.

    “I heard he spent seven years wandering like a _ronin_ , wandering alone. If that is true… he may have forgotten how to ask.”

    “Brother?” Genji looks up sharply. Hanzo just shrugs.

    “A lone wolf has no one to question but himself.”  He says. “Such questions are frequently uncomfortable. One learns to simply… stop asking.”

    He picks up his tea again and is pleased to see that his hands don’t shake.

    Genji says nothing.

    Hanzo looks into the depths of his cup.

    “He is still your friend,” he says after a long moment of silence. “If he was not unrecognizable to you on his return, he should not be unreachable now.”

    “It isn’t that,” Genji says. His voice, though through the synthesizer, is just as raw as Hanzo’s. “I was just thinking how Jesse isn’t the only one to have grown more wise.”

    Hanzo glares at him, and Genji laughs.

 

    Later, in the training room, Genji takes a minute to really look at McCree in a way he hasn’t since before the Fall and Recall. He remembers being surprised by how far the cowboy took his thematic look, but Jesse has always had a gift for melodrama inherited directly from Reyes himself. Genji chides himself for not looking past the mask that first day in Gibraltar.

    McCree now sits on one crate with his feet up on another, lazily flipping through some still shots on a tablet while Hana finishes using the shooting range.

    “You’re pulling to the left,” he says without looking up. Hana makes a frustrated sound.

    “I am not!”

    “Are too,” he drawls. “On account of the wind.”

    “There’s no wind!” She shoots back.

    “Is now. North by northeast.”

    “You can’t just change the scenario whenever you feel like it.” She turns her MEKA around with a clank and a bunny-like hop. “Especially since you can’t make the simulations match your setup!”

    McCree finally does raise his head at that, and a grin sidewinders across his face. He slams his fist into the battered panel on the wall beside him, and the AC vent above the range suddenly produces a gust.

    Hana doesn’t pout, but it’s a close thing.

    “Hacks,” she complains.

    “North by northeast,” he grins.

 

    Genji comes up beside him. From this angle he can see the pictures on McCree’s tablet: various clips of combat training and field exercises from the rest of the team.

    “I remember you having a similar complaint when Commander Reyes pulled the same stunt on you,” Genji says. Jesse’s wince is a miniscule thing; practically anyone else would miss it. It comforts Genji that he does not.

    “Yeah, well, just because she can keep firing forever doesn’t mean it’s any compensation for aiming.”

    “I heard that!” Hana yells over the gunfire. “My accuracy is only 15% under yours, and that’s because it’s an automatic!”

    “I seem to recall that you shot out the AC like a child throwing a tantrum when Reyes did it to you.” Genji muses.

    Hana cackles. Jesse just shrugs.

    “And then he made me fix it, so between the two of us, I’m the one who can work a cooling system.”

    “Between the two of us, mine is built in.”

    Jesse laughs, and the sound warms Genji. Perhaps Hanzo is right. Perhaps his friend is not unreachable.

    McCree shuts down his tablet and climbs to his feet.

    “All right, Honey-Bunny, time to switch.”

    “Honey-Bunny?” Genji repeats blankly.

    “Honey-Bunny?” Hana repeats gleefully. “Is that one mine?”

    Jesse makes a show of considering the pointed crests on Genji’s helmet, and Hana all but wiggles in excitement.

    “You see any other little rabbits around here?” He asks.

    “I love it! It’s so cute!” She squeals, then glowers at him. “Don’t think that’s getting you off the hook for that crack about my aim.”

    McCree just chuckles and watches her pilot her MEKA back to its hanger.

    “Honey-Bunny?” Genji asks again, and McCree resets the AC and the range protocol.

    “Seemed fitting.” He shrugs. “She’s got that whole rabbit-motif going.”

    The range whirrs into operation, and McCree sets to work. Genji watches the way the man holds himself, how his perfect desert stillness breaks under each shot like a roll of thunder, and how very cold he seems in the moments between. McCree gets through three rounds of ammunition before he hits pause and turns back to Genji.

    “Did you need something, Whirlwind?”

    “Whirlwind?” Genji sounds more baffled than he intended, and Jesse winces.

    “You know, like a tornado, ‘cause you go around so fast… never mind. No good, eh?”

    “It was not your best nickname.” He laughs, though, which makes Jesse smile.

    “I’ll come up with something, just you wait.” He holsters his gun. “Seriously, though, what’s up?”

    “I wanted to see how you were,” Genji says, and as soon as the words leave him, he wishes he had couched them better. Now that he’s looking, he can see Jesse fold up his hurts and stick them in his back pocket like a wallet full of shameful secrets.

    “Me? I’m doing fine.” McCree smiles, wide and easy, as broad and empty as the sky.

    “Jesse,” says Genji, and McCree tenses ever so slightly. Genji decides to let him off easy this once. “Would you please spar with me?”

    McCree pauses.

    “Co-op, or Versus?”

    “Co-op. Like the old times.”

    Jesse winces, but this one he doesn’t do a thing to hide.

    “I am _not_ putting on that damn feedback suit again.”

    Genji laughs.

    “No need. It has been a long time since we last practiced together in earnest. I am eager to see what new tricks you have learned in the meantime.”

    “Shucks,” McCree rubs the back of his neck and doesn’t meet Genji’s eyes. “I haven’t changed none.”

    Genji just tips his head as if to say, “we shall see.”

 

    It takes a few awkward starts to get back into the rhythm. McCree has, in fact, finally trained himself out of leaving his back open, forcing Genji to find somewhere else to stand in their traditional maneuvers. Genji’s style also burned through some of his recklessness, but compared to McCree he is still a flash of lightning on a dry field.

    “Hey, Green Ranger, you still as good at deflecting bullets as you used to be?” Jesse asks as all the hostile bots spread across the map and then start closing on them.

    “Better than you are with nicknames,” Genji replies. Jesse chuckles.

    “Wanna play _Red Light, Green Light_?”

    “And how do we play that?”

    “Cover me with your deflection while I aim Deadeye.”

    Genji pauses.

    “I thought the green light meant ‘go’, not ‘stop’.”

    “Well, as you said, I’m terrible with nicknames.”

    Genji laughs and draws his sword.

    “Ready when you are, Red Ranger.”

    Three seconds later, the field is clear. Genji claps Jesse on the shoulder.

    “You do know your aura is golden, not red, correct?”

    Jesse blinks.

    “Is it? The only time I ever hear about it is when someone’s screaming, ‘Shoot the guy glowing red!’ Huh. Will wonders never cease.”

    “It is all right.” Genji pats him again and feels a warm peace in his chest that reminds him of whenever Zenyatta manifests the Iris. “You make up for it in other ways. Now, let’s try that again.”

  


**AND THEN:**

 

    Winston stares across the briefing room table at the three unrepentant faces in front of him.

    “I would have expected something like this from the younger members,” he sighs, “but not you, McCree.”

    McCree lounges between Lύcio and Hana and rolls his neck with a crack to look Winston in the eye.

    “You know, Peanut Butter Cup, you don’t get to draft young people into your fight and then make judgments based on their age.” He says in an even, steely tone that makes Winston deflate ever so slightly. “I’ll have you know that these two fine, upstanding _young people_ voiced all the appropriate concerns and proceeded with all the due caution when I made the suggestion.”

    “So the whole thing was your idea?” Winston rallies with a little skepticism and a pointed look over the rim of his glasses, but it rolls off McCree’s calm like water off a duck’s back.

    “Oh, I can’t take all the credit. Not much at all, really, for the mechanics of it. I’m just saying that you oughtn’t read them the riot act over a perfectly reasonable set of maneuvers, expertly executed if I do say so myself.”

    Winston says nothing, but hits ‘play’ on the desktop interface between them. The screen shows a fleeting glimpse of some brightly colored streak sailing through the sky like a very determined rainbow. Winston hits a few more keys and the track replays at one-quarter speed.

    D.Va’s MEKA goes flying across the screen, thrusters flared to the maximum output. Atop the machine, Lύcio and McCree cling to the top of the frame, each lit up by their own colorful glow: Lύcio in the bright green and blues of his speed boost, McCree red and gold in the middle of a Deadeye.

    Winston hits pause around the time McCree starts pulling the trigger. He stares at the three.

    “Well now.” McCree tips back his hat. “Ain’t that a sight.”

    “That looks so cool!” Hana squeals. "Can I have a copy of that? I want to use it as a loading screen. Or better yet, if you can get a nice high-rez still shot, I can make it a banner.”

    “I want one for my next album cover,” grins Lύcio.

    Winston sighs.

    “Can’t one of you take this seriously?”

    “Hey now,” McCree protests, “we’re taking the ‘ _Shooting Star_ ’ technique very seriously! These two put a lot of hard work into it, and you’re treating it like it’s a big joke without even listening to them!”

    Winston blinks, and Hana steps into the opening McCree made.

    “Yeah, post-respawn mobility is a very serious issue.” She crosses her arms. “When half your team is suddenly on the other side of the field from you and trying to hold down the checkpoint without their support or tank, it dramatically decreases your chances of keeping the objective. ‘ _Shooting Star_ ’ maximizes the team’s mobility, defense, and offense output at the same time.”

    “Which allows your reinforcements to reach you in record time and in peak condition, might I add.” Lύcio chimes in. “Better than getting sniped out of a wall-ride, lemme tell you.”

    Winston sighs, stonily silent. McCree raises an eyebrow and gestures proudly at his younger teammates.

    “You’re all going to smash your heads into a wall, and Angela is going to ask me why I didn’t put a stop to this madness in the first place.” He sighs. Lύcio skates around and pats him on the shoulder.

    “Don’t worry buddy, I’ll send you the battle plans. We did the math and the mods to Hana’s MEKA to make it safer, I promise.”

    Winston buried his face in his massive palms and groaned.

 

    Three weeks later, trapped behind a fountain in Dorado with half a dozen enemies camped around the payload mere meters from the checkpoint, Winston hears the sound of MEKA thrusters mixed with Lύcio’s rapid tempo boost music. He looks up and sees the sun blazing in the night sky, a rainbow streaming out behind it.

    “What the--” one of the enemies gapes.

    “DRAW!” yells the sun, and all six Talon agents fall down dead.

    Winston watches D.Va land and Lύcio and McCree dismount from the MEKA. The three of them share high-fives and conspiratorial grins as they move the payload the last few feet to the checkpoint.

    He groans. They’re going to be insufferable.

 

    (Winston has to write them a formal commendation as Acting Commander for saving him. Jack insists. Jesse frames it and hangs it in the kitchen. Hana uses it as her stream banner for a week. Lύcio puts it in the liner notes of a free download named after the technique.)

 

**AND AGAIN:**

 

    “You know what time it is.” Jesse grins in the doorway of the Sanctum in Nepal.

    “Not yet!” Hanzo hisses over the comm.

    “Better hurry, Brother.” Genji says as he scurries through the twisting hallway. “McCree has been wanting to try this for two weeks.”

    “I was trying to cover you!” Hanzo snaps back. “As usual, you ran too far ahead.”

    “To watch over others, one must first watch over himself..” Zenyatta’s melodic voice spurs a noise of frustration from the archer, who finally maneuvers into  position.

    “Take your time,” McCree tells him over the private line. “I’m in a defensible enough spot.”

    “You may be, but what are the chances my brother has not run head first into danger again?” Hanzo mutters back.

    “I got eyes on him. Zenyatta’s with him, and he’s got a Harmony Orb bobbing behind him like a kid with a balloon at the fair.”

    “I have a shot,” Hanzo switches back to the main line.

    “Ready!” chirps Genji.

    “Well then, let’s let ‘er rip!” McCree’s grin is audible. “ _Wrath of the Heavens_! It’s high noon…”

    The enemy, well informed of the danger of those words, scrambles to find cover. Simultaneously, both Shimada brothers summon their dragons, driving down on any potential safe points. Hanzo’s clear out two who stubbornly stay in the center; Genji sweeps by and gets two more who think to move but aren’t fast enough to outrun him. Peacekeeper fires two more shots, dropping the last two who are bright enough to go in opposite directions to escape the dragons but have forgotten the hunter that sent them running in the first place.

    Zenyatta, Mei, and Reinhardt applaud with varying degrees of enthusiasm.

    “Well done, my student.” Zenyatta says to Genji as the cyborg trots back to the rest of the team.

    “Thank you, Master. I admit, I am surprised it worked so well. Most of McCree’s plans have a lot more collateral damage.”

    “Here now, that’s not always been my fault.” McCree puts his hands on his hips and scowls. “Trouble just follows like a stray dog; fed once, and it won’t go away.”

    “Like calls to like,”  Hanzo replies, jumping down to join them.

    “Yes, well, considering how much I like the lot of you, you may want to reconsider that one--” Jesse freezes when he realizes what came out of his mouth. He’s saved from the full onset of embarrassment, ironically, by Reinhardt, who lifts him into a swirling hug.

    “You have grown into an admirable tactician, my boy!” He booms. “I wouldn’t be surprised if one day, you lead a team! But for now, I want one of these ‘combos’ too!”

    Jesse’s eyes slide away from the bemused smile on Hanzo’s face, dragged in by the sheer gravity of Reinhardt’s glee.

    “All right, well, I do have one for you and Hana…” He grins. “I call it, ‘ _The Anvil Chorus_ ’...”

 

**UNTIL:**

 

    Jesse sneaks into the medical quarantine ward to see Gabriel almost every day that he’s not assigned to a mission, much to Angela’s concern and Jack’s frustration.

    “How do you keep getting in here?” Jack demands when he finds Jesse dealing Blackjack on Gabriel’s bed for the third time in a week.

    “The House stays,” Jesse says to Gabriel, who snorts.

    “Hit me.”

    Jesse flips a card, ignoring Jack’s fuming.

    “Busted, Boss.”

    “Damn.”

    “McCree. It’s a security issue.”

    McCree just looks up at Jack with the most blatantly manufactured look of innocence ever beheld by mortal eyes.

    “Really, sir? Gosh, I didn’t know anything about that. I don’t want anyone to be in trouble. It’s just… well, can you keep a secret, sir?”

    Jack should know better. He has no excuse for forgetting.

    “Sure,” he says, walking right into it.

    Jesse’s grin takes on an edge.

    “So can I.”

    Gabriel laughs so hard he accidentally tears out his IV.

 

    Such interactions are common over the eight months it takes Mercy to stabilize Gabriel, to the point where, when Soldier:76 is finally ready to let Reaper start standing in on trainings, it’s McCree who gets responsibility for him.

    “I’m still not calling you Boss,” Gabriel says, crossing his arms.

    McCree just chuckles.

    “Pretty sure the only actual authority ‘round here is Winston. Maybe Athena, depending on your definition.”

    “Please.” Gabriel snorts. “You only pay any attention to authority when it suits you.” Jesse makes a wordless sound of indignation, but Gabriel’s expression softens ever so slightly. “And we’re all better off for it.”

    Jesse might have a feeling or two about that, at that, but only a little bit, and only for a little while. Honest. Gabriel may be more himself than Reaper now, but the darkness of what he did while wearing the mask isn’t going to fade away easily, and they both know how hard it is to wash blood of their hands.

    “So, what are we doing here, Firecracker?” Gabriel gestures to the training room. “Don’t you have enough specs on me from all the tests Angela put me through?”

    “Specs are one thing.” Jesse waves that off. “I wanted to get a better idea how to fit you into the pack tactics.”

    Gabriel stares at him incredulously.

    “Seriously? You’re going to try and put me in a team? I know you remember what happens when there’s a mean bastard you can’t trust on the roster.” He shakes his head. Jesse just taps his comm.

    “Head on down, Old Man.” To Gabriel, he says, “You know exactly how far I trusted Jack Morrison. Anything he got from me was on account of you. But I learned a few things you didn’t teach me, so lemme get you caught up.”

    Jack walks into the training room, pulse rifle slung over his shoulder.

    “I want to go on record that I’m here under duress and I blame this entirely on Gabe.” He says in such a dry tone that Gabriel can’t actually get offended by it.

    “Put up or shut up.” Jesse rolls his eyes and indicates for Gabriel to step off to the side. The bedrock confidence with which the cowboy carries himself isn’t exactly new, but it was never something that overshadowed the Blackwatch commander before today. Gabriel steps back mostly out of curiosity. Mostly.

    McCree and Soldier:76 take up positions on opposite sides of the field to start, and training bots boot up and begin moving. For the most part, they just stay out of each other’s way, but to Gabriel’s sharp, tactical brain their strategy quickly becomes obvious: as they close in, they drive their enemies towards a single point and back them up against a wall.

    “ _Born on the Fourth of July_!” McCree yells, hurling not one, but three flashbangs into the air at the clustered bots. The effect itself doesn’t compound for a longer duration, but that many going off at once is like a sky full of fireworks, and Soldier’s helix rockets explode into the center like an evening’s finale.

    The bots smash against each other and the wall, utterly wrecked.

    Gabriel slow claps, his weight shifting from one hip to the other.

    “You’re going to miss those flashbangs later in the fight, Firecracker.”

    “It’s a big finisher, Boss, not a middle of the melee sort of thing.” Jesse sulks. “You think you can do better?”

    Gabriel and Jack exchange looks. The awkward tension in the room jumps to a suffocating level.

    “Not anymore,” says Jack, resigned but not as bitter as he could be.

    “But Firecracker, there was a damn good reason we won the Crisis back in the day.” Gabriel continues the sentence so naturally that Jesse’s heart has a sudden nostalgic seizure.

    “Come on, Boss, let’s see if we can still _Do-Si-Do_.”

    Gabriel groans.

    “Don’t you have a better name for that stupid move by now?”

    “I wasn’t about to rename it without you, Boss.”

    “Funny, since I specifically told you not to call it that in the first place.”

    “Aww, Boss.”

 

    They can’t do it.

    McCree throws his flashbang and plasters himself up against Reaper’s back, but his feet have lost the rhythm of the dance, or his head can no longer keep the room straight in the spinning. Whatever the reason, he stumbles mid-turn. Reaper is half-wraith, and he slides through the falling cowboy unhindered, but the pattern of his shots leaves him with his shotgun leveled at Jesse’s face.

    Jesse’s eyes widen.

    Jack shouts.

    Gabriel drops his gun so fast it doesn’t even hit the floor before it vanishes.

    Jesse lands on his ass, heart pounding against his ribs and eyes still focused on the memory of the shotgun aimed between them. Gabriel ghosts backwards, his expression thunderous as a stormy night and just as dark when the shadows of his hood deepen.

    “Cripes, kid.” Jack snaps, stalking forward to wrangle Jesse to his feet. “Don’t pull that kind of crap on me. I’m old. It’s not good for my heart.”

    “This was stupid.” Gabriel growls.

    Jesse, on the other hand, works his way through shock, relief, disappointment, and right into calculated smugness with surprising speed.

    “Hey Boss,” he says, before Gabriel can quit the field. Reaper pauses, his back still to them. “You didn’t pull the trigger.”

    Reaper says nothing. Jack mutters enough curses for the both of them.

    “Don’t worry, Boss. We’ll work on it.”

 

**AT LAST:**

 

    Sunset over Gibraltar finds Jesse and Hanzo on the roof of the Comm Tower, watching the waves lap at the foot of the lighthouse in the distance. It’s their place for quiet contemplation, the sanctity of which their teammates no longer disturb without good reason. They sit with their sides pressed together, Hanzo’s tattooed arm warm against Jesse’s skin, their hands clasped under the folds of the serape.

    For once, Jesse breaks the silence.

    “Shipping out tomorrow,” he grunts. Hanzo hums in acknowledgement. Of course he knows; he’ll be going too. “First time in the field with the new team.”

    Hanzo squeezes his hand.

    “You are nervous about Reaper.”

    “Who, me?” Jesse scoffs, but his jack-rabbit pulse betrays him.

    “There is both folly and wisdom in hope.” Hanzo says. “Like trust, it leaves you open to grievous wounds, but also allows growth.”

    Jesse exhales slowly, shoulders slumping as his proud spine bends under the weight of his anticipation.

    “I never thought I’d get it all back.” His voice is soft from awe and tremulous from the fear that he keeps carefully veiled but cannot escape. “And more. And better.” He squeezes Hanzo’s hand back. Hanzo rests his head against Jesse’s shoulder. Jesse turns and presses his lips to Hanzo’s crown.

    “You will not lose us.” Hanzo says gently, but with resolution that even the world’s end couldn’t shake.

    “All my favorites in one place at one time?” Jesse says. “That sounds like an invitation for Fortune to give me my comeuppance.”

    “‘All your favorites’. That sounds like we are candy for a greedy child.“ Hanzo huffs. “Do not make any jokes about sweets.”

    “Just for you, I’ll refrain.” Jesse nuzzles closer. “You know, even Boss couldn’t get me to do that.” Hanzo cranes his neck back so he can look at Jesse better. The sunlight seems to fill his eyes with the flame of fire opals.

    “Oh? Do what, refrain?”

    “I used to crack a lot of corny jokes back in the day.”

    “Used to?” Hanzo smirks.

    “Oh, hush.” Jesse retaliates by nosing at the archer’s jaw and exposed throat so that his whiskers tickles the bare skin. Hanzo yelps and twitches, but manages to keep from completely losing his composure. He ducks his head into the crook of Jesse’s neck, squirming his way half into the cowboy’s lap in the process.

    They sit there like that until the sun finishes setting and the stars are all out, at which point they have to be responsible and head inside to prepare for the morning deployment. Hanzo pauses by McCree’s door, and Jesse dithers on his own about parting.

    “Hanzo…” he says, but he can’t free any more words from the canyon of his throat. Hanzo seems to understand, as he always does. He steps closer to Jesse and reaches up to cup the cowboy’s face in his hands.

    “May I?” He asks.

    Relief floods Jesse.

    “You may,” he says, and Hanzo goes on tiptoe to place a patient, gentle kiss on his lips.

    “Thank you,” Hanzo says when he drops back down.

    “Pretty sure I ought to be thanking you,” Jesse says. Hanzo strokes the line of Jesse’s cheekbone with the pad of his thumb, dark eyes holding Jesse’s hazel with a surety upon which one could build mountains.

    “You will not lose us,” he says again. He kisses Jesse one more time, then bids him goodnight. Jesse holds on to that sentence like a lifeline until he falls asleep.

 

    Hanzo is only half right, though: when the mission goes sour, as missions always do, it’s McCree who gets caught on his own, facing terrible odds, and in only a halfway defensible position.

    “I have visual,” Hanzo snaps over the comms, frenzied concern fraying the cool of his voice. “My Dragonstrike is ready.”

    “On my way,” Genji confirms. “My blade is ready to be unleashed.”

    “Pretty sure we’re all ready to go,” Lύcio says. “Which is good, ‘cause this is a lot more guys than we usually run into at once.”

    “That just means that maybe there will be some points left for you, for once.” D.Va teases.

    “Damn Firecracker, what have I said about watching your back?” Reaper snarls. “Death Blossom is ready and has your name on it.”

    McCree just grins, straightening up and edging out of his alcove of cover. The enemy hesitates because there’s something unnerving and curious about a man who steps so confidently into the line of fire of so many opponents.

    “Prepare for the _Wild Hunt_!” He throws back his head and howls as purple-black smoke swirls by his feet and Japanese shouting summons dragons mid-air.

    “Let’s break it down!” Lύcio yells, and panicked bullets flatten on the sonic barrier. McCree rolls back as Reaper pushes forward, materializing in a whirlwind of shots. Hanzo’s dragons tear down the field in one direction, Genji goes by in another with his dragon racing to keep up with him. McCree tosses a flashbang at some enemies trying to scramble backwards and fans the hammer of his pistol into one who tries to flank him. D.Va lands and evacuates her MEKA as it starts to glow.

    “Nerf this!” she laughs, and her teammates duck as the machine explodes, clearing out the remaining enemies.

    Silence eventually relieves the crackle of leftover energy and settling debris. The six of them share looks ranging from triumphant to shock.

    “All right, all right, all right!” Lύcio grins. “Did you see that?”

    “That was awesome!” D.Va yells.

    Hanzo and Genji draw closer, still alert, but visibly smug: Hanzo in his smirk, Genji in his swagger.

    “The howl was overdoing it.” Reaper says, nudging McCree in the side, “but that was probably the best combo name you’ve come up with yet.”

    “He comes up with better combo names than nicknames.” Genji laughs.

    “Oh, c’mon, I thought you liked Greased Lightning!”

    “I did until I found the song!”

    “McCree.” Hanzo interrupts, more than a little sharply.

    “Ooo, someone’s in the doghouse.” Lύcio whispers to Hana. Both Hanzo and Jesse glare at him, but it’s no more than a flicker of the eyes before their attention is on each other again. Hanzo’s stern demeanor lasts another moment before relief breaks over his face.

    “I am glad you are all right.”

    A year ago, McCree’s heart wouldn’t have been able to fathom the swell of joy that now washes over him. A year ago he was the desert, constantly hanging in the liminal space between surviving and dying of thirst. Now the drought is over, and he can hardly contain or control the superbloom of elation.

    “You, too,” he says.

    “Aww, come on, doesn’t Hanzo get a cute nickname too?” Hana whines.

    Jesse goes red.

    “I’ll tell you when you’re older,” he snaps.

    “Older than what?”

    “Older than me.”

    “Awww, man!” Lύcio deflates.

    “Who even lives to be that old?” Hana gripes.

    “Hey!” Gabriel snaps.

    “Brother, you have to promise to tell me if it’s a good one. Or a bad one. Actually, just promise to tell me.” Genji badgers.

    “I will do no such thing!” Hanzo glares.

    Jesse drops his head down until he can rest it on Hanzo’s shoulder; it’s just a bit too far to be a comfortable angle, but it means he can hear his archer’s heartbeat pounding in his throat.

    “Awoo,” he mouths into Hanzo’s neck. He feels muscles shift against his cheek as Hanzo smiles, and he knows he has his pack.

 

 

 

 

**SOMEDAY:**

 

    Even the best run has to come to an end.

 

    McCree knows this in his bones. The last months have been the very best of the best, but he’s paid for every ounce of happiness he’s ever wrung out of life in blood and suffering. All bills come due. It’s a truth that leaves him almost as cold as the blood loss from the bullets he took, through-and-through shots, but he thinks one of them might have hit something important. His hand is numb; he can’t quite move his fingers the way he thinks he ought to be able, nor even push himself to his feet.

    The one consolation is that his comm still works. Even if there’s no one with him, he’s not alone.

    “Hanzo,” he gasps into the line, interrupting the stream of distressed Japanese rattling too fast for him to translate.

    “McCree, hold on.” Hanzo tries to assure him. “We’re on our way--”

    “Heart o’ My Heart,” he murmurs quietly as he stares up at the encroaching enemies, “thank you. I’m sorry. I love--”

    “Dads on the move!” D.Va yells over the channel. “Incoming _Helicopter Parents_!”

    “What?” Jesse barely has time to blink at the unfamiliar tactic call before heavy footsteps and a sound like rushing water through underground caverns bear down on him and his enemies. He catches sight of Jack’s blue jacket, wreathed in shadow-smoke-sand. Golden light blooms around him as Jack slides in and plants a biotic emitter before popping back to his feet in the middle of the deadly black flower already blossoming overhead.

    “Back off my boy!” Reaper snarls, shotguns blazing.

    “I’ve got you in my sights.” Soldier:76 activates his visor and sprays bullets into the enemy forces, standing protectively in front of McCree. They are dichotomy, they are juxtaposition, they are synthesis. Jack doesn’t need to know the placement of Gabriel’s legs to keep from tripping because Gabriel doesn’t even manifest solidly below the waist. Gabriel doesn’t need to aim around Jack; his arms and guns ghost through, and Jack doesn’t even flinch. Light and darkness are, for one instant, in perfect coexistence, and all that stand in opposition will fall. Before the glow of the biotic emitter even has a chance to dim, the two of them have leveled the field.

    Jesse stares up at them in genuine awe.

 

    For all their fury, both Soldier:76 and Reaper seem subdued - even embarrassed, perhaps - once the last enemy hits the floor. Reaper glides off in one direction while Soldier stalks off in the other, muttering some pretense about securing the perimeter. As if anything would have witnessed that onslaught and done anything but flee.

    Hanzo rushes past Soldier, dropping to his knees at Jesse’s side and quickly examining the healed wounds before crushing his cowboy to him. Jesse snaps out of his daze and buries his face against Hanzo’s throat, curling his shaking fingers into his archer’s _gi_.

    “Of all places and times,” Hanzo mutters, his voice uneven, “that was hardly the most ideal for those words to have their first appearance.”

    “Sorry,” Jesse chuckles. “I just wanted to make sure I got a chance _to_ say them.”

    “I do not need to hear them to know. You do not need to say them just for the sake of speaking them out loud.”

    “Well, maybe I wanted to hear them.” Jesse can feel Hanzo tense and take a breath. “From me. To you. I wanted to hear what it sounds like when I can tell you.”

    “Ah.” Hanzo exhales. “And what did you think?”

    Jesse leans back, an exaggerated expression of contemplation on his face. Hanzo does a much better job of masking his amusement.

    “I liked it,” Jesse says, “but I think I’ll have to try it again just to be sure.”

    “By all means.” Hanzo’s face is mostly neutral, but there are hints of dimples at his cheeks that give him away. “But perhaps next time, you might choose a different circumstance than being wounded and over the public communicator line?”

    “Awww, but then I won’t get to tease Genji about the absolutely _adorable_ nickname his brother gets that he wasn’t here to hear!” D.Va whines over the comm.

    Jesse looks at Hanzo.

    “The comm was still on the public channel?”

    “Yes.”

    “The whole time?”

    “Yes.”

    “Well.”

    “Indeed.”

    “Will you two hurry it up?” Soldier:76 snaps. “We have an objective to secure.”

    “Give them a damn moment, will you?” Surprisingly, it’s Reaper who growls back.

    “We’re on a _mission_.”

    “We killed the entire opposing _team_. I am literally watching your support unit installing more sentries around the entrance point than should physically fit. Anything that tries to flank us is going to end up as toasty as I felt after Switzerland.”

    “I can’t believe you just said that.”

    “Better get over it soon, Boy Scout. I’m not waiting for you to catch up.”

    Jesse and Hanzo exchange the looks of grown men trying very hard not to laugh like small schoolboys.

    “I see where you get it from,” says Hanzo with his superior poker face.

    “Ah, well, you know,” Jesse gives up and laughs, “what’s family for?”


End file.
